


When All's Asleep

by AgenderAcid



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Issues, Hurt No Comfort, Light Angst, Other, Sad, Secrets, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgenderAcid/pseuds/AgenderAcid
Summary: It can be so unsettling to always see Ghostbur with a smile on his face and nothing less because no one can reasonably be happy all the time, even if he doesn't remember the bad things. But, also, sometimes, it's good to be able to be happy and ignorant. To not have to know the cruel realities of the world. Phil knows this even if sometimes he'd rather Ghostbur remember more than just the good memories.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	When All's Asleep

Philza was sitting down on his chair across from the fire place in Technoblade’s house. He hums to himself while sharpening his axe. The crackling of the fireplace, screeching of metal against the whetstone, and his humming maintain his bubble of calm and quiet, despite none of them being noises any other person would likely find comforting. But they are repetitive and create an evenly timed melody.

Outside, in the snow covered world, the sun is creeping towards the horizon and he distantly notes that night will arrive soon. He hopes that Techno will come home soon.

Halting in his work, he studies the blade of the axe. Running a finger tip along the edge, he pulls his finger away and notes the shallow cut. Declaring it thus sharp enough, he takes a cloth and polishes the blade before putting it against the wall where all his other tools rest.

Stretching out his back, having been hunched over the whetstone for much too long, he groans then sighs as a popping sound is made.

“Gods,” he mutters. “I’m getting too old for this.”

“You’re not too old, Philza,” a high pitched, echoing voice says.

Jumping, he whirls around to see Wilbur – or rather Ghostbur – standing in front of the door. “Oh, hello Ghostbur.”

“Hi Philza.” The ghost beams and gives a cheerful wave.

“I assume Techno is on his way home as well?”

He nods. “Yes, I ran ahead to get out of the snow.” Understandable, considering the snow, as well as the rain, hurt him.

Not a minute after that, the door flies open, a cold wind rushing into the house. A massive body looms in the doorway.

“Evening,” Technoblade greets, entering the house. He shakes himself off, a layer of snow falling from his head and shoulders. Closing the door, he unclasps his cloak and hangs it up on the coat rack next to him.

“Good evening,” Phil greets him. “How was the hunting?”

The other shrugs. “Sparse as usual. I traded some with the village over the hill.” He drops his weapons against the wall next to where Phil had put his axe.

“Oh?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Phil smirks teasingly. “Getting more emeralds for your hoard?”

Laughing gruffly, he stores his items in the nearby chests. “I swear, my emerald stores are so low. Those friendship emeralds were like a fifth of my supply.”

“Mhm, yeah, sure.” Rolling his eyes, Phil can’t help the amused smile that tugs his lips upward.

Wilbur has obvious confusion painted on his face, but he still appears happy nonetheless. He’s always happy. Sometimes, it makes Phil concerned for his son’s ghost. It’s unnatural to be that happy all the time, even if he only remembers the good memories like he’s claimed.

Technoblade, having put away all his items, makes his way over to the stairs leading to the top floor and his bedroom. “Well, I’m off to bed. Good night.”

“That’s fair.” The pig-man hybrid had been out all day, leaving the house before Phil had even woken up that morning. “Good night mate.”

“Good night, Technoblade,” Ghostbur chimes in.

And now Phil is left with Wilbur. Not feeling quite tired enough yet to go to bed like Techno, he returns to the seat he’d been using earlier and reclines back while basking in the warmth of the fireplace. Wilbur sits – well, as much as a ghost can sit – next to him on the floor. His transparent legs, which fade away before reaching his ankles, are folded underneath him.

There is still a smile on the ghost’s face. A smile that has never seemed to falter even once. At least, not as far as Phil himself had ever seen. He wants to ask.

“Wil–er, Ghostbur,” he says, drawing the other’s attention.

“Yes Phil?” Ghostbur looks up at with with wide innocent eyes, like those of a child. A child who had not been a part of any wars. Who had been able to live a nice, quiet life without any fear of death. Completely unknowing of the cruelty the world could bring. When was the last time Phil had seen Wilbur have that look in his eyes when he was still alive? How long ago was it? Was it back in his youth, when Phil was just a struggling single father trying to take care of two children: Wilbur himself and Tommy? Or was it never? Had Wilbur always been a little too aware of the harsh reality he would face in life? Too aware of pain and sorrow? Always knowing that the world would never treat him right and that he would have to fight for the right to be treated fairly? “Phil?”

Blinking, Phil realises he had let his thoughts wander and ended up staring into space. Refocusing on the ghost of his son’s face, he decides he can’t ask that. So, instead, he asks a question he hopes is less of a burden. “When we’re all sleeping, what do you do? Do you sleep too? Do ghosts need sleep?”

Ghostbur shakes his head. “I don’t think we need sleep and I don’t know if it is even sleep. It’s like–” he pauses while searching for the right words– “it’s like going unconscious. I know I’m not sleeping, but I’m also not in the physical world, I don’t think. It’s like the afterlife. A void.”

“Oh.” Trying to find where to go from that is difficult. “Is it lonely or boring?”

He shakes his head again and beams. “No, actually. It passes by in a blink!”

Although still feeling a heavy weight dragging him down, he feels a bit of that weight lift. “Ah, that’s good.”

Giggling, Ghostbur’s smile widens.

They fade into silence. The only sounds filling the house being the popping of the fire and settling of the house. All too soon, though, Phil finds himself yawning.

“I’m going to go to bed now, I think,” he says as he stands up. He douses the fire, extinguishing, and then begins making his way to his bedroom.

“Oh, okay.” Ghostbur remains seated. “Good night, Phil.”

“Good night mate.”

~~~

Wilbur jerks awake, his heart beating frantically in his chest like a little bird desperately trying to escape its cage. All around him are cold stone walls. Where is he? Wasn’t he just at Techno and Phil’s house?

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he hunches over, covering his head with his hands, and groans. A splitting headache makes him want to simply lie down again and go back to sleep.

He stands up though, but he doesn’t feel like he’s the one fully in control. Every movement feels like deja vu. He’s following a written script that’s been laid out for him and he doesn’t have a choice but to follow.

Walking out of the bedroom, if can even be called that, which doesn’t even have a door, he emerges into a massive underground ravine. It’s clearly been lived in and altered to be so. Cobblestone stairs lead up the side to a wooden bridge, which connects to more stairs disappearing higher up. On the ground, there’s some stairs here and there where the floor level changes dramatically and further down the ravine is a bridge spanning a gap. Lanterns illuminate the space, but they are all placed sparsely about as if materials were difficult to acquire. A few off-shooting rooms are scattered about, one which leads to a potato farm and another that leads to a weird pit. That is important, his brain tells him. How did he get here again?

“Wilbur!” A young voice calls out his name from behind.

Turning around, he comes face to face with a blond teenage boy wearing a red and white shirt. _Who is he?_ His mouth opens, but he doesn't get to ask the question which sits on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says, "What is it, Tommy?" Well, at least now he has a name.

"You're finally awake. Come on, everyone is waiting for us," the boy, Tommy, urges as he runs up the precarious staircase leading up.

 _Waiting for us? For what?_ He wants to ask, but his mouth won't move to do so. His legs take him forward, following after the boy, but at a slower rate, walking rather than running.

Catching up to Tommy, he watches him dig out the dirt blocking the surface entrance to the ravine. As soon as the entrance is clear, Tommy urges him onward again. Wilbur obliges.

The minute he steps outside of the small entry way into the forest, a throb of pain flashes through his body. Fleeting images flicker in front of him.

A caravan.

A green man with a mask.

A flag with a half circle of black, outlined in yellow, with three bands, one red and one white and one blue. Three x’s sit in a line across the center.

Then, a man with ram horns standing victoriously over a city.

Being chased from that same city.

Finding the ravine.

Technoblade.

The flag burning.

Watching that same horned man watch Technoblade shot a teenage boy with rockets.

Tommy and Technoblade fighting in the pit.

Allies.

“Woah, dude, are you okay?”

Blinking away the images, Wilbur stares at Tommy, finally recognising the boy before him. His brother. How could he have forgotten?

His brother is looking at him with concern, gripping his forearms. “Wilbur?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he replies. At that moment, it doesn’t matter the words his past self says. He would’ve said the same at the time, if only to ease the worry on the younger boy’s face. “Let’s go meet up with the others.”

Luckily, Tommy accepts that as an answer. They make their way through to forest to meet up with Technoblade and Fundy, his son, and so many others. Techno leads them to his base and then a secret vault under his base, where he gives them all access to a massive wealth of items. With everyone fully geared up, they go to march on L’manberg.

As soon as they get within sight of L’manberg, fighting breaks out with arrows raining down on them from above. From there, it all becomes a whirlwind. He doesn’t know how Alivebur ever kept up with all of this in real time.

Cheers and cries of pain and pleas for mercy ring out alongside the clashing of metal on metal. Arrows wiz through the air. Rockets explode. The scent of blood and sweat and tears fill the air.

It’s not long into the fighting when their enemies surrender, led by that green man with a smiley face mask. Dream. He leads them to the camarvan. Everyone squeezes inside to surround the man with ram horns. Schlatt.

Wilbur watches as everyone confronts the weak and dying man. He watches as Schlatt has a heart attack and dies for the last time. While everyone is stunned and in awe of their victory, he merely watches from the sidelines, apathetic to the events happening around him.

Stepping out the camarvan, he steps up to the podium and begins his victory speech. He names Tommy president. There’s a reason for that. Old words ring in his ears.

“You’ll never be president.”

But Tommy denies the position, so Wilbur gives it to Tubbo, the closest person to Tommy. Symbolic as he can get with Tommy not wanting to be president anyway. And Tubbo speaks, but Wilbur most certainly isn’t paying attention. The boy is weak willed, without a spine. A terrible option. Second-best. Besides, being president won’t matter soon.

Slipping away, he is unnoticed as he goes to that room. A room that he’d set up long before. Whose purpose had changed from getting rid of Schlatt’s L’manberg to now getting rid of L’manberg as a whole. He blocks the entrance, but still Phil finds him. A father finally trying to do what’s right.

“Have you heard the song written on the walls before?” he asks, while tracing a hand over the word L’manberg carved deep into the stone. Wilbur is aware that he sounds like a raving madman in his rambling.

He lets Phil talk. He lets the man who claims to be his father think he’s talking him out of pushing that button. Lets him hope. He doesn’t tell him his agreement with Dream. That he has every intent to push that button. That no one could stop him now.

“There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor once part of L’manberg,” he says, staring his father in the eye. “A traitor I don’t know if you’ve heard of: Eret.” He takes a deep breath. “He had a saying, Phil.” He turns to face to button. Watches Phil out of the corner of his eye. “It was never meant to be”

And he pushes the button.

~~~

Ghostbur gasps loudly as he jerks upright in Techno and Phil’s house. Back to full consciousness, he glances down at himself. His hands. Ghostly, see-through, transparent hands. Hands that have done so much. Hurt so many people. Done horrible, horrible things.

If only he could see his feet instead of his hands.

The memories flood his brain. He can’t keep them out. They clamor for his attention and it feels like whiplash from how fast his thoughts shift from one memory to another disconnected memory.

He’s done so much. Hurt others too much. He can’t be redeemed. It can never be undone. Never made up for.

He was a terrible son.

A shitty father.

A worse brother.

A white glint in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

He looks to see one his crystals, sitting by the door in a pile. The sun’s dawn rays gently touch the crystal, making it sparkle. It is pure and pristine. Untouched. Untainted by sadness. And he remembers.

The blue.

Grabbing the crystal in a clenched fist, he stares down at it. Watches as it turns from pure white to blue. A deep blue. Growing darker and darker every second he holds it. Until it is such a dark blue it looks nearly black.

And then, he doesn’t remember anymore.

~~~

Phil yawns as the morning sun, shining through the window and landing directly on his face, wakes him up. Sitting up, he stretches out his arms, groaning as his bones pop and resettle. Getting up, he haphazardly makes the bed look at least somewhat neat. Then, he heads to the main room, intent to prepare breakfast for him and Techno.

Stepping into the room, he sees Ghostbur standing over the fireplace, turned away from him.

“Morning mate,” he greets. “Did I accidentally leave the fireplace on overnight? Could’ve sworn I put it out.”

Whirling around, a bright smile on his face, Ghostbur waves. “Good morning, Philza! Yeah, it seems you did leave the fire on overnight, but it’s fine. The house didn’t burn down, luckily.”

“Yeah, good thing,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll have to remember to be more careful of that.”

“I’ll try to help you remember,” the other offers.

“I’d appreciate that, mate. Thanks.”

“No problem!” Ghostbur looks up at him with bright eyes. “So, what’s for breakfast today?”

Phil stops to think for a moment. “What about pancakes?”

Ghostbur claps his hands together and bounces up and down. “Yay! Sounds good!”

Smiling, Phil can’t help but be reminded of when Wilbur was younger and would often help him with making breakfast. He’s glad it’s a habit the other had retained, even in death. It’s times like this that he remembers Wilbur wasn’t ever all bad. That he still had his good moments. His son couldn’t have been completely evil, right?

He settles down next to the fire and grabs a pan while starting to work on making pancakes. Glancing over at Ghostbur, who was sitting next to him, their eyes meet and he finds himself smiling at the childlike innocence he finds there.

It’s good to be able to be happy and ignorant of reality sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading my story ^-^  
> Feedback and/or constructive criticism is always welcome
> 
> Edited to fixed minor errors


End file.
